His Dreamgirl
by Jokerfest
Summary: He never thought that she would be in his waking world.  She wore an oversized men's shirt, a faded green beret settled over dark braids. In his dreams she'd never worn anything. "Are you a hallucination," she asked? a little Damon/Elena eventual Damon/OC
1. Chapter 1

So I'm already writing a humongous fanfic for Vampire Diaries but I couldn't resist my favorite vampire. So here I am with a shorter fic that will be starring Damon and my very spontaneously yet delightfully developed OC. Please review, let me know if you like. It helps and plus my self esteem goes up 2 points every review ;) So without further ado, I DO NOT OWN the Vampire Diaries characters in their many forms on tv and in literature. This is television based btw.

Dream Girl

I. Torment

_How do you always know what I will say?_

_You seem to know me in the clearest way_

_I want to run and hide, keep you from finding me_

_You shouldn't see, what is my mystery_

_But with the timing right_

_It could be paradise_

_To do this now_

_Would not be right_

_I was just fine, yes I was fine I thought_

_I didn't think that I would get so lost_

_To have and not to hold and to pretend I'm cold_

_It is a lie because I melt every time_

_And with the timing right_

_It could be paradise_

_To do this now_

_Would not be right_

_So stay away from me_

_You're better off to stay as far from lovin' me_

_Just stay a fantasy_

_In the dark, in the night and in my dreams_

_From Nadia Ali's Fantasy_

Again, she was here again, with her addicting presence, her dark eyes that welcomed him every time. She wore nothing, luscious curves, soft brown skin that was hot under his fingertips, dotted with perspiration, rivulets of proof that he'd been fucking her for well over five hours. His hands gripped round hips, the flesh of her smooth skin, pressed tightly with all ten of his fingers. She shifted in his lap, grinding a full bottom onto his erection. He groaned into their tumultuous and heady kiss, her hair black and curtaining them both. She pulled away, looked at him, searching his gaze. The look was personal, haunted. It was clear that she wanted more, her fingertips traced the furrow in his brow, down his nose, her thumb graced gently over his bottom lip. She kissed him again, pulled away, kissed him more deeply, her tongue curving and convincing against his closed mouth. The swell of her ass pushed down into him again, forcing him to open his mouth, to yield another sound and let her tongue torment, tease, taunt and worship him. He pulled her up, finally and she guided him inside of her, sinking with a low mewl, that seemed to shudder through her chest. Their lips met as did their groping hands as they curled around one another, as did their bodies as Damon lent some vampiric speed to their lovemaking. She gasped out a plea in a breathless little whisper, her body practically humming against his as they grinded against one another.

"Why," he asked her in a quick huff, "why do I keep seeing you?"

The question was punctuated by aimed thrusts that hit just at her sweet spot. After a month of the same dream, the same woman, and the various positions, Damon knew many of her pleasure points. The one he was pounding away at, the one that had her shuddering in his arms, squeezed and clenched around him like a vice, was almost at its limit. Damon switched them so that she was underneath him, her arms held over her head and he could drive into her more quickly, literally not giving her a second to breathe.

"_Idon'tknowIdon'tknowIdon'tknow_..." she said over and over her eyes closed, sweat breaking over the curve of her upper lip, sliding down her mouth until she removed it with a slow sweep of her tongue.

"Look at me and say that," he demanded. His hands tightened a bit around her hands, she arched upwards, round and succulent breasts peaked high towards the ceiling of their imaginary hotel room.

He slowed, edging her away from her climax. She growled, her dark hair gathered messily beneath her as she tilted her head to look at him. He slow grinded into her core, pulling out all the way and sinking into her forbidden heat with a slick glide. She clenched around him, using her thighs to wrap around him, trying to sway him into loving her harder.

"Please, I don't know why," she said softly, " please, Damon. _Please_."

She couldn't be the innocent Damon thought reluctantly. How could someone that appeared in his dreams this way for over a month be innocent? She bucked her hips showing her plea rather than voice it. He leaned over her, now completely embedded within her, he didn't move.

"Dreamgirl? What do you want from me," he whispered at her ear. He laved gently over the soft lobe, sucking soft skin between his lips. One of his hands thumbed at taut dusky nipple.

"You... just you," she breathed.

He closed his eyes, hearing her the desperate truth in her words. His fangs itched, begged to be released and just _bite_ her, but he didn't, he couldn't. Lord help him if her blood was just as addicting, just as sweet as the rest of her delectable body. He changed pace at this thought, the thought of her blood pooling into his mouth, biting her just as she came and watching her unravel in ecstacy. He sank fingers into her thighs, lifting them to rest on his shoulders. He was so blissfully deep inside of her. Her pussy walls clamped around him with intent, he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her lips were a little too wide and they were a soft red because of the many, many kisses. They were also open in a silent scream of pleasure as he changed pace on a dime, fucking her into the bed so hard that the sheets were sliding upwards. The bed, a solid Californian, rocked steadily against the lush carpet.

"_Damon! Damon, Please!_"

A low groan echoed from her chest and he could hear her heart stutter as she came around him again for what had to be the tenth time that night. He kept going, sporadic thrusts getting her off once more before he leaned over, sucking harshly at her throat and came inside her. She gasped softly, her heartbeat catching itself, her fingers splayed over his back.

When he regained himself he looked at her, saw her eying him dreamily. He caught her lips again, their softness surreal and very welcome. He knew that the dream would end soon, he almost dreaded the thought. When he broke the kiss he offered her a small honest smile.

"I believe you, Dreamgirl."

"I'm glad," she said, "because I don't want you to think...I'd never trick you like this. And I don't know how to make this stop."

"Probably my battered pysche," he said pulling them into a comfortable spooning position. His arms held her to him, her head was tucked just underneath his. Her breathing was slow and easy, her spicy scent hovering over them both.

"Good night," she said closing her eyes.

"Night."

And then he woke up.

Damon sat up slowly, now use to the aching arousal that followed him into the waking world. He glanced at the woman beside him, the woman he loved. He didn't want to wake her and stole out of bed in a quiet rush, down to the kitchen.

"Can't sleep," Stefan asked a somewhat knowing grin on his face. Damon smiled toothily, no real humor in his eye. After the entire ordeal with Klaus, after a year of things slowly getting back to normal one thing had stayed broken, his relationship with his brother. Stefan had resumed living at the boardinghouse, he figured more out of a sense of familiarity then actually wanting to be near him. Or maybe staying in Mystic Falls was the only way he'd ever have a piece of Elena. Damon reached down into the liquor cabinet and pulled out the familiar crystal bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a glass, raised a brow at Stefan. Stefan smiled and shrugged.

"Why not," the younger brother said.

They drank together, glass after glass. Damon was sure that every glass for Stefan was a glass he drank for and because of Elena. His younger brother's constant torment pervaded the house like a lingering spirit. Despite this, Damon had never been able to talk to his brother about Elena, about what had happened. He never worked up the courage to apologize either, hiding beneath a thin facade of entitlement.

"So who was she?"

Damon finished his glass before setting it on the mahogany coffee table. He leaned back a little getting more comfortable, might as well be, with the ride he was about to experience. He shrugged.

"No clue what you're talking about baby bro, those wicked dreams are all about Elena." He offered a smirk and raised a brow, maybe just hinting that Stefan had to be crazy.

Damn the bastard for being so astute, Damon thought, as Stefan only smiled. Smiles on Stefan nowadays was more for dark humor and wry sarcasm. There was rarely any happiness. However, on this occassion there was a sort of dark delight in his brother's eyes. Stefan was glad about the dreams, glad that he couldn't sleep, that he felt guilty, all of it. He wondered if Stefan had peeked into his mind at some point. He was certain that he would have felt it but could all of this questioning really be Stefan's ingenuity?

"And now who's the wicked liar," Stefan said still smiling, "because you and I both know, those _noises you make in your sleep_...aren't for Elena."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Calling me a liar?"

"Among other things, yes. Yes, I am. You're dreaming of another woman while you sleep with the girl you stole from me. It's disgusting. You've only been dating, what, maybe eleven months now? Not very long to already be changing tastes, is it brother?"

"You haven't the faintest clue what. the fuck. you're talking about,"Damon clipped as he stood up.

It couldn't possibly be as Stefan said, could it? He would die for Elena. He loved her, had faught for her. He closed his eyes, pictured her in his mind. Her dark brown hair, golden skin as if some wood nymph had been her mother. Her eyes were always so expressive, delectable in pleasure, a fierce torrent of love and bravery just underneath her kind gaze all the time. And her body was something he'd always thought perfect, he'd proven that to her many many atime. He licked his lips, looked upstairs.

"You'll have to excuse me brother, the alcohol is just not gonna be enough tonight. I think I'm gonna go shag your ex. Good night."

He stood up, gave a mock salute and used vampiric speed to be in the bedroom, under the covers and have his fingers plunged into his sweet girlfriend in less than a minute. Fuck Stefan, he thought as he watched her gasp sweetly into consciousness, fuck him for even _thinking_ that he didn't love Elena.

*Torment*

Damon's days were beginning to haze together in a torrent of guilt, pain and exquisite pleasure that sang through his bones. Every night the same brown skin that tasted like forbidden fruit on his tongue. The lavish affections never lost their initial fire as much as he dreaded and hoped. He was lucky that Elena hadn't noticed, that she didn't feel him practically writhing in bed, during particularly intense nights. And there was _never_ a night that he didn't dream, it never skipped days. He stocked up on bourbon, tequila and even vodka, once attempting to drink himself into a dreamless slumber. The night that he had tried, he'd woken up in a fever wanting Elena so badly it made his eyes darken. He sucked at Elena's throat, ran his fingers along her stomach, caressing her into wakefullness.

She sighed, a little sweet sound in the wee hours of the morning. He nipped at her throat playfully, his fingers edging past her tight black panties.

"Damon," she murmured her voice scratchy and pleading. It was the voice of someone about to be thoroughly fucked in the wee hours of the morning. Because he needed it, needed her and was going to have her before the sun rose.

"Elena...I want you," he said whispering against her skin. He felt her pulse quicken, the sudden awareness in her heart as it beat faster. He could smell the very beginnings of her arousal as it crept lazily over her waking body.

"Damon, I have," she paused as he stroked her pussy, running his fingers down soft curls, down the moist slit that was already gushing Elena-tasting nectar. He rubbed away the rest of her sentence with a brush of his thumb against her clit. She shivered in his arms, goosebumps rising against her skin, breasts already hyper sensitive. They were spooned together and he knew that she could feel how much he wanted her. Besides, Damon was never shy. He loved sleeping in his bed blissfully naked and now with Elena a frequent visitor of his bed it made even more sense to do so. Damon sank a digit into Elena, felt as it sucked him in. She grunted softly, her eyes closing, her teeth sinking into her lip.

"Damon...seriously-"she whined as he pumped his finger in and out of her. He added another finger, vampire speed, now tapping a steady rhythm against her sweet spot. She stopped speaking, her mouth open, head tilted over his shoulder as he did that all the while a slow thumb playing with her now swollen clit.

"You know I want you, Elena," he huffed into her ear. He pressed his open mouth at the skin just behind her ear. He drew the soft place into his mouth, his fingers working her harder. She ground against him and he growled darkly, bucking back as he throbbed just against the curve of her sweet ass.

"When I want you...I can't help myself. Especially, when you're right there." He had four fingers being grasped around tender and greedy flesh. Tiny, begging mewls were a chorus on his hears, Elena's heartbeat a fast paced timpani against her ribcage. Damon felt his fangs descend, let them caress the delicate skin at her throat. He felt that tantalizing pinch of fear added with the heady scent of her desire, felt her grind into him with an abandon that he was certain only he got to see.

He bit her. She gasped at the sharp hurt, but at once he had removed his fingers and thrust himself into her wet heat. Her heart stuttered, picked up its already excited pace, as he took her from behind. Her blood was _hot_. His Elena was always so warm and he always liked to think that the spiced and tangy spring of Elena's blood had something to do with it. He moved faster, he wanted her cumming around him, loved the sound of her screams as she voiced her complete satisfaction, her body as it was utterly overcome by him, and her pussy holding him so tightly as if he didn't belong anywhere else. He released her throat, lapping away blood with his tongue.

"Please, let me...please, Damon..."

"Please, what? Tell me what you want Elena."

"I want...just, Damon, please!"

"Then tell me what I wanna hear." He teased her, tapping slow inside of her, rolling his hips into her, as his greedy fingers played with her breasts. He pulled one ruddy rose colored nipple between his fingers, moved to toy with the other, punctuating with his teasing thrusts.

"I'm dizzy," she gasped, leaning backward. He moved so that he could taste her mouth as he slow fucked her. It was languid and sexy as hell kissing Elena that way, her tongue under his, her taste as he sucked on her tongue, when she stroked a fang with her tongue. He groaned, tapping harder now. Her voice hitched and she sobbed out his name, her teeth indenting her lips.

"Say it, say it now," he demanded as he rolled them, her underneath him, dark hair draped over her shoulder. He took her hair in his hand, let it run like silk through his fingers. He leaned in, kissed her throat.

"I love you, Damon," she said touching her fingers to his mouth. He kissed and nibbled, grasping the hand not too tightly as he sucked one digit between his mouth. He scraped it with his teeth, sucked hard. She writhed beneath him, as he continued bringing their hips together, faster, faster and then he said into her ear, as he licked, as he nibbled as he told her how _deliciously fuckable_ she was that he loved her, that he loved her more than his eternity, more than blood, more than anything and that she was his. _His_. She gripped him tightly, clenching him, dying just a little as her body was forcing him deeper inside of her. He closed his arm around her throat, just tight enough, dragging out her moment as he let go, vampire strength hitting against her womb as he came inside her. Her chest thrust forward and her arms reached behind her scratching at the headboard. The sound that she emitted, seemed to come from deep places, dark dirty and wonderful places, as he tasted blood just at her throat, coming back down to earth.

"Is that what you dream about," Elena said later as she smoothed her fingers through his hair. He had an arm wrapped around her waist and thigh, his body satiated and _warmed_ by Elena. He looked up, kissed her.

He kissed her forehead, "It's the only thing I dream about. I love you, Elena."

She sighed, smiling dreamily before closing her eyes. Before her breathing evened out he knew he would wake her again for more. He kissed her forehead again, disappointed in himself. If he loved Elena why was it that Dreamgirl was the one that came to him at night?

*Torment*

"It's gonna be a little longer, Damon," Elena said irritably over the phone. Damon groaned, resting his head against the car seat. He'd been sitting in the parking lot of Northern Virginia Community college. He didn't know why Elena hadn't let him compel an advisor of an Ivy League school but she said she'd wanted to work her way up by herself, starting with raising her GPA. She took classes three times a week and insisted that they remain in Mystic Falls. He understood that, family was important to her. He felt the same way otherwise he would have kicked Stefan's ass to the curb a long time ago.

"Fine, babe, I'll be a good vamp and not eat any of the alumni while your away. Want me to grab something to eat?"

"No, I don't think it'll be that long, we'll go together. I'll call you when I'm headed out."

"Right on, love you 'lena," he teased. He could hear her smile through the phone. "Love you too, D."

He grinned before ending the call.

With time to spare Damon decided to walk around the campus. He'd been to many campuses of many colleges and universities, as a student, as a professor or simply just to party. In the end it hadn't been his scene, drunken frat boys, large unnecessary tomes and essays to be typed. When he'd been a professor it had been for a small writing class. _That_ had been fun, he remembered. Most of the class had been starry-eyed women, young twenty something year olds eager to learn and both fascinated with his ability to fuck as they were with Faulkner. He'd never really shared his passion for the written word with anyone, except for one person, a wonderful woman he'd known back in the day. She'd been an attentive learner, someone who appreciated knowledge for its own sake, who had wanted to make more of her world. She had been a sneaky thing too, disappearing like a ghost when she wanted to. His father had taken to calling her Shadow for her quiet demeanor and her more than helpful presence.

He entered the building, saw students milling about, some with a sense of priority, others half asleep and barely together. He disregarded the many looks he got upon entering. He knew he was attractive and he knew that they'd look. Except for the young woman currently on the ground scooping up books practically bigger than she was. She had long braided hair, covered by a faded green beret. Her body was hidden as she was crouched down wearing an oversized men's shirt. He would have helped her but was more interested in touring the school. He looked down at her as he walked by, more braids falling in front of her face. She sighed.

And it was over.

He stopped walking and turned to look at her, really _look_. Her hands moved quickly as she began stacking from her larger books to the smallest. Her nails were short, a chipped sparkling green on them.

_Ancient Greek Anthology: Works of the Early Thinkers, __Poetry's Dissection: Taking Life from Words, Giving Words Life, __A Brave New World, A Clockwork Orange _ and finally her last book was _Flowers for Algernon_. All of them were soon stacked by careful hands and then she stood, her boots adding to her height, though she was not very tall. He'd say she was 5'7 in the black boots, not counting the hat. She froze when she saw him, her breath literally stopping in her throat. She dropped her books again, students around her laughed. She looked at them, remembering where she was, that in the real world she was little more than a badly dressed nerd. But she was also his dreamgirl.

He walked over to her and began helping her reform the stack. They were careful not to touch one another, careful not to speak. She peeked at him over her glasses but would glance back down when he tried to catch her eye.

"Are you a hallucination?" She finally asked. Her voice was tinged with distrust, something he'd never heard in his dreams, _their_ dreams.

"No, you?"

"Not that I know of. D...Damon?"

His phone rang and Damon winced. He could swear that the universe was mocking him.

**Thoughts? I hope you enjoyed, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

So I was all about getting another chapter of this story out there. I really do like where this is going. I see alot of favorites but no comments. No fair guys! J/k but seriously opinions matter. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy and no I do not own Vampire Diaries. Yeah, still not a reality :P

Shadow Girl

I. Captive

_Relations (Say Apollo had to break 'em)_

_Creation (It's a gift, a blessing)_

_Incarceration (What keeps you down)_

_Determination (What gets you out)_

_Equation (When they said you could make it)_

_Humiliation (What you feel when they say it)_

_Reincarnation (Say N-A-V)_

_Situation (Why we've got to sing)_

_Elation (So many in need)_

_Identification (Gives you the right to shoot)_

_Retaliation (What would it do)_

_Education (Gives you the right to do)_

_Inspiration (What pulls you through)_

_No substitution (Try to substitute)_

_Non-inclusion (Just got to bust through)_

_Drug infusion (For the chosen few)_

_Mass confusion (When they say that they died for you)_

_Delusion (Say that the dreams don't come true)_

_Solution (It can take a hold of you)_

_Conclusion_

_Inspiration (Is what pulls you through)_

_-From Citizen Cope's Let the Drummer Kick_

**"It is not wise to despise the snake for having no horns,for who is to say it will not become a dragon." Quote from 'Noodle' of the Gorillaz**

_Mystic Falls, May 16, 1859_

*Captive*

She should be grateful, for the weather at least. That was what she told herself as she stood there in her cleanest dress. She had braided her hair the night before, used the very sweat from her brow to make her hair shine, spit on her hands to make them more clean. She had to be taken in by a kind owner and that was all there was to it. She could not think of circumstance that was outside of her control. Like mother. Like her two brothers. She forced a lump down her throat, flinched as the cart that held her and the other slaves jostled on the dirt road. She wished she wasn't there. She wished that her life were her own, that her skin were the right color. She cursed circumstance, it was the reason that chains were clanged tightly over wrist and ankle.

"Don' be gettin' any thoughts in your head girl," one of the older slaves scowled at her. She turned her head away, looked down at her feet. Her previous master said she had a willful streak about her. He'd said he would scour out the filth in her and teach her the way things "ought to be". But the slaves of New Orleans had taught her one thing; there was magic, there was a way to be free.

Taking night trips to the bayou with her mother,to the swamp that teemed with _life,_ her mother taught her that power was everywhere and she could use that to her advantage. On top of that her mother had given her a gift, her grimoire. It had been handed down, from her mother's mother and her mother had had it translated into English by one of the other slaves. She knew how to feel her power but she needed the grimoire to tell her how to use it, make her own circumstance, get back to her family and flee as far north as possible, maybe west in the wild country.

The wagon finally letting off in what appeared to be the town square. She could hear the people clamoring outside eager to look at the "merchandise". Her mother told her not to hate the white men, that they were not so different from them. She said that the same kind of slavery happened in Africa, that prisoners of war were made slaves of in their captives' village. The door to their container was opened and one by one they were led to a makeshift stage. She lifted her skirts swiftly, so as not to trip on the stair.

Her mother had told her that people would touch her if they could, that they would make her feel as if she were little more than an animal. So she kept her eyes cast down and prayed that her circumstance would change for the better.

*Captive*

The man who had purchased her was certainly not a talkative man. He had a stern face and asked only that she remain quiet and out of the way during the journey home. He did not tell her what he expected of her and she did not know if she were even allowed to ask. His name was Salvatore, that was all she knew. As money exchanged hands and irons were traded for rope, she heard the name pass between the slaver and her new owner.

"Didn't know that you'd come around t' buy, Salvatore. Thought the Founders frowned upon that. But you'll see, she'll come in real useful," the slaver said with a lewd wink. He had reminded Henriett of a lizard, cold quick and speculating. He shifted when Salvatore glared back. Her new master nodded to her once and she followed with a quick curtsy.

"Am I...to be a handmaiden for your wife,"she finally asked after hours on the road.

He said nothing and Henriett felt her cheeks burn at her boldness. Talking out of turn would not earn her any favor with a new master. She silently chided herself and then voiced an apology.

"It was not an errant question, better it be for you to ask a question that will aid you in your task, than a frivolous one." It was faint but there was almost amusement in the older man's voice.

"Like where I am? Master?"

He scowled, clucking the horses to a faster canter before answering. "You are in Mystic Falls, we don't get up to much around here but it is a good Christian place. Your previous master did he ask that you call him as such?"

Henriett knew that he noted her hesitation before answering. She was glad that he did not ask about her pause.

"I was only to address him as Master or Master Johnson."

"Well, the highest title I'll ever demand is sir or Mr. Salvatore. I do not rule over lives or the rights to a person's name. You have my respect until you have lost it, understood?"

"Yes...sir."

"Good. Now what may I call you?"

"Uh-my name...my name is Henriett."

"It is good to meet you. You are to help keep the house running smoothly. My two sons are also living with me. They will not bother you as you go about your work, do not worry about that. Also, I do not take with slackness or stupidity so you will begin taking lessons with my youngest son, Stefan."

"Yes...sir."

"We'll work on that too," he said with something like amusement in his voice.

Henriett stepping through the doors of the stately Salvatore home, had not known what to expect. The journey to her new home had proved that Giuseppe Salvatore was not the average slaveowner. Stepping into Mystic Falls proved that it was unlike any place she had ever seen. It was a small yet bustling community, many people stopping to say good day to her master. He responded almost distantly but with an air of congeniality that it was made alright. That first day of appearing in town Henriett was sure to only follow a few steps behind. The horses had been taken by a young teenage boy, about twelve. He introduced himself as Nathan with a quick tip of his hat, before taking horse and buggy away.

They'd entered, Mr. Salvatore withdrawing a silver key. He opened the door and let her enter first. She glanced back and he must have seen the confused look on her face.

"Slave or no, you are still a lady. I haven't time to aid you in the goings-on of the household. However, my son Stefan will be arriving from town later in the day. I will show you to your room and perhaps you can rest or get settled until then."

She followed him, still completely unsure. Her old master never regarded her as human or at least not completely. Master Johnson was a cruel and deceitful man. What he enjoyed was being evil for its own sake. There was another reason that her mother had gotten her away from Johnson, something she'd begun to notice as she grew older in his household.

Mr. Salvatore ventured up gleaming wooden stairs and Henriett palms slightly wet, gripped the banister. A short woman with large coiffed white hair curtsied quickly to Mr. Salvatore before clipping down the stairs to go about her business. There were severe paintings of stark nature, their frames guilded with gold. She would have stopped to observe the paintings but she feared losing Mr. Salvatore.

Finally, the last door, of the first hallway, was where the two of them stopped. Henriett felt her throat grow dry. She clenched her skirts, her eyes too afraid to meet his. He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. But stopped, as he turned to look at her.

He sighed. "I do not know what your previous master was like, though I begin to form a base opinion of him. Neither I, nor anyone of this household will hurt you in that way, _ever_. If you are to be punished it would be in all fairness and if there is reward," he said opening the door, "it is well earned. Welcome to the Salvatore home, Miss Henriett."

"Thank you, Mr. Salvatore," she said stepping into the room. It was sparse, but it was much more than what she had ever had. There was even a shelf with books. She stood in the middle of the room, moved to touch the goosefeather bed that had been neatly made in the corner. There was a desk at the far end and a large window that let the afternoon sun dapple the oak furniture. She turned to look back at him.

"What have I done...to deserve this?"

"You have done exactly as I've asked and you've been...brave. Things will be different here in Mystic Falls, you'll see."

After he closed the door behind her Henriett looked down at her arm.

"Show me," she said to her forearm. A white cloth of resin bandage appeared around her entire arm. On it were indigo symbols, words of the English language that would eventually set her free. For now, the everchanging symbols made no sense, could not help her but it was as Mr. Salvatore had said.

"Things will be different here. Now, disappear," and the cloth shimmered from view.

_Mystic Falls, June 20, 1859_

*Captive*

"Do you ever speak," Stefan asked her.

Henriett glanced up from her parchment to look over at Stefan. Just as Mr. Salvatore had said, lessons began almost immediately. She was to be present during Stefan's lessons and she was to receive her own during his break periods. It was the time when her lesson was soon to begin and he started his lunch. He had bade the tutor, Miss Adelaide to take her own lunch at her leisure.

So there they sat, no alphabet and word pronunciations between them. She frowned at the question and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I speak, sir."

"Well-yes-yes, right now, you're speaking but what I meant was, do you ever have anything to say?"

"Such as?"

"Surely you must have a past, an interest, any-"

"I'm a slave, sir. What's goin' on now is something very different than what real slaves go through."

"And what's that?"

"What is what?"

"I want to know. I want to know what slavery has been for you, why it's different for you here. Why don't you ever say anything, Henriett?"

"This was how I was...brought up. Being quiet keeps you from being noticed. My owner previous...you wanted to _keep_ from bein' noticed. May I go see if Miss Adelaide is ready for my lesson, Mr. Salvatore?"

"Uh, yes, that's fine."

"Thank you, Mr. Salvatore," she said as she stood to curtsy. She turned to leave but was stopped by the young Salvatore almost immediately.

"Look, I apologize for the personal tone that I took with you. It was wrong. It's just that...if you can't already see," Stefan said walking around to face her, "Mystic Falls isn't like other areas of the South. We're an accepting community."

Henriett didn't know what to make of the sincerity she saw in the young Salvatore's eyes. She didn't see deceit, something she could spot from a mile off after her previous life.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe things are dif'rent here but I will discover that for myself. I've two eyes and two ears, and two legs so's I can use 'em wherever I may go. But...thank you Mr. Salvatore-"

"Stefan. Just call me Stefan. And since I'm not your master, maybe it could be possible to be friends, instead?"

"Stefan," she said. She nodded and left to go fetch Miss Adelaide for her and Stefan's lesson.

_Mystic Falls, July 4, 1859_

It was hustle and bustle at the Salvatore household, in celebration of Mystic Falls' annual firework display. Henriett had seen many a flashy show in Louisiana, her master more than fond of the holiday's drinking and festivity. For a short while she had been one of the head coordinators of the dinners, dances and fireworks of her previous household. Her mother had been in charge but in that last year had passed the duty to her daughter. At the Salvatore home she'd been placed in position of the staff, her ability to organize and delegate work something that the head Salvatore had spotted almost immediately. Her routine in the household did not vary in the sense that she worked hard throughout the estate but every day she learned something new. Once after lessons, Stefan had coerced her and Miss Adelaide to enjoy a picnic near the rose gardens. The sun had been a balmy yellow, not too hot for a summer day. A gentle breeze would whisper amongst the flowers and summer grasses. Never had she experienced such a peaceful outing, felt that free. Though she hadn't spoken during their little break from schooling she'd smiled more than once at Stefan's easy banter with Miss Adelaide and laughed at his small anecdotes of his life in Mystic Falls.

She wanted the event to be spectacular, for the night to be something memorable for everyone in town. It was then, as she had just sent away one of the servants to fetch the larger fireworks for the canoneers, finished polishing and cleaning the house till it shone, with Nathan, a few of his friends and two other slaves, Megan and Maybel, twins, that Damon Salvatore opened the door.

When Damon Salvatore entered she eyed him shrewdly. The way he walked in, hands tucked into his dark slacks made her raise a brow. As he entered the main hall, he glanced at her assorted team, Bucky, a lanky fifteen year old waved brightly.

" 'ello Damon, sir. Holiday just begun?"

"Yes it has," Damon smiled clapping the youth on the shoulder. The other boy smiled, some of his chums laughed along, including Nathan. Henriett frowned. She'd heard about Damon enough to know that he could cause trouble. Mr. Salvatore had spoken of his older son's coming, told her about his drinking and frolicking after every female in the town. When he spoke of Damon he spoke of someone spoiled and cocky. Maybe she could change that. She moved through the small gathering, touching Nathan's shoulder, who in turn nodded for the others to get back to work. She smoothed her red dress, a lovely cotton red, with white sleeve and collar. She'd sewn it herself getting the material at the tailor's with the small allowance she'd been given. She curtsied and he acknowledged with a nod of his head a smirk on his lips. Apparently he was one of those young dandies that thought they were true gentlemen. She'd met more than a few, there'd been one from every parish during the extravagant parties her master liked to throw.

"Hello Mr. Salvatore, my name is Henriett. Your father wished for these young men to put up the rest of the decorations as quickly as possible. Could you help? You look very able and seem more refreshed than some of my aids here," Henriett said gesturing to the youngest child, Max, of ten years.

"Uh, of course...Henriett." He offered a grin, took it back and awkwardly went to help Max, who was in the process of delivering wine to the luncheon party outside.

She nodded politely, curtsied again before heading out into the summer sun. She was learning her letters as fast as she could, which Stefan and Miss Adelaide had remarked, was at a very fast pace. Mr. Salvatore had given her a high rank among his subordinates, practically negating her status as slave in Mystic Falls. Her bandage was no longer a complete mystery, small words no longer meaningless gibberish.

She curtsied, moving sedately among the guests. Music was played by a small band on the makeshift stage she and two of the larger servants had quite strategically put together. All of the families had gathered, Mr. Gilbert, quiet Mr. Fell and his lovely wife Honoria, even the mayor and his family had attended.

So when a firework whistled out of the house and sent several of the guests screaming and running in the opposite direction, Henriett could not account for it. She turned to see Damon grinning snidely before disappearing indoors once again.

Fine, she would play his silly game, and win. She hurried out amongst Mr. Salvatore's guests, easing their worry, offering to get more refreshments, helping to find dropped items. Afterward, she would show Damon Salvatore what she was made of.

**Thoughts? I'm slowly shaping this character, she's kind of growing on me. If no thoughts just leave an opinion on Henriett, I'm curious. And yes, I know, not much Damon in this chapter but he'll be very present in the next one, promise. **


End file.
